BONE DEEP

A breath above the surface

Hermione let her chin drop to her fist as she scanned over the list again, waiting for one of the names to jump from the page and capture her heart.

Butch Cassidy: Tabby, 3 years old, friendly.

Coco: unknown, 10 years old, friendly.

Mrs Bubbles: Birman, 7 years old, bites.

Agent Blue: Calico, 6 months, friendly.

Blaise's owl had dropped the list off two days ago, without a single note of explanation, and perhaps she should have been more affronted at his presumption of her willingness to become a cat-hoarding hermit, but he wasn't far off the mark. He seemed happy enough to live that way; why wouldn't she be?

She'd thought about getting a new cat in the immediate aftermath of the war, after she gave up on the last ounce of hope that she had to find Crookshanks, who everyone presumed to be dead, but she knew better; he was underground somewhere, leading the strays.

She read the list again, desperate for at least one of them to call to her, give her something to love so that she could stop feeling so selfish. Though try as she might to see faces behind the names, the list was doing little more than giving her a headache.

The floo suddenly roared to life, sending her heart flying into her throat and the list flying out of her hands. Pansy Parkinson, in all her glory, stepped out of the fireplace and affixed her with a glare so cutting she might have bled.

"You." Pansy pointed a bejewelled finger at her, long manicured nails filed into threatening points.

Hermione blinked, trying to settle her heartbeat. "Me?"

"You didn't show up last night," Pansy took another step forward. "I got stuck with Theo until four in the morning."

Pansy did not look like someone who had been up all night. She was a vision of luxury; her thick, jet-black hair cut into a stern bob, her lithe body- filled to the brim with ever-persisting fury- wrapped carefully in silks and diamonds, her exposed and pale legs ending in stilettos so tall that the mere thought of standing in them made Hermione wince.

"I didn't feel up for it," she said, bending to collect the escaped list from the floor, but Pansy was quicker.

She snatched the paper and read the scrawl, her eyes darkening with every word she absorbed. "Are you getting a fucking cat?"

"I don't know, maybe?"

"No." She bunched the paper into her fist and threw it to the floor, Hermione watched with a small sense of relief as Pansy pulled out her wand and burned the paper to ash. "Absolutely not. It's bad enough with Blaise."

Hermione fell back against the cushions of the sofa, shrugging. "It could be nice for me to have a companion, even if they have four legs and eat kibble-"

"It's been five weeks," Pansy brought her hands to her hips, her heel tapping against the hardwood. "Enough of this. Get up."

She groaned. "It's not that. It's just-"

"If you think I'm here to pander to you like Draco does, you're mistaken. Get up, we're going out."

"He doesn't pander!" She argued, and the look Pansy threw her way was pointed at best and outright dangerous at worst. "He's nice to me, there is a difference."

"Too nice. Now get up."

"Why?"

Pansy rolled her eyes, making a show of lifting her wrist to inspect the watch that she never used. "We are going shopping."